Criminals and Cops
by Ineedtostopshipping-srsly
Summary: Beca Mitchell, infamous criminal, is offered a choice: work with the police to bring down her brutal rival, or spend the rest of her life in jail. An obvious choice, but when a redhead cop begins to unveil secrets about Beca that no-one has ever known, and when her enemies merge with her allies, Beca's business will become personal. M for violence and language, but might change.
1. Chapter 1

**Beca's PoV**

Beca Mitchell had been called many things in her 22 years, but _girly_ was possibly the worst yet. Felon, murderer, sinner, traitor, the list goes on and on, but _girly_? Like she was just an angsty teenager getting caught with some weed? That was just embarrassing. Eugh.

So, when the large blonde woman at the front desk smiled at her when she walked past and called, "Have a good stay girly!", she was tempted to throw up. Then kill someone. Then re-evaluate all her life decisions up until this point. In that order.

 _Girly._ These police are so unoriginal.

The strong, uniformed man who held her handcuffed hands firmly behind her back in a vice-like grip had nodded towards the woman briefly, but his pace didn't falter, and Beca found herself wondering how it was possible for someone to walk this fast while half carrying her. Maybe – with a little persuasion – Beca could have him doing some of the heavy jobs.

With persuasion though. That was something Beca had become familiar with over the last few years, and she knew by now that she was pretty good at it. Money, dirt, blackmail – sometimes victims would go so far as to have some rival to be put out of business, which Beca always found interesting. He was a cop as well. Cops knew things.

Right?

" _Get the date, time 'n number of bullets, then we can 'ave ourselves a good ol' fashioned shoot out. Hey, Kiddo? Watcha' say to dat?"_

Annnnddddd there goes another bit of Beca's sanity.

Seriously, hallucinating some dead guy's voice in your head a couple times was concerning. But after two years, the frequent comments had turned out to be… enlightening at times.

" _Knew ya luved me Becs, jus' knew it."_

But the rest of the time they were really piss-taking. Like seriously.

Without realizing it, Beca had been dragged into an interrogation room, where the super strong dude – that she was totally considering corrupting – shoved her forcefully into an uncomfortable, steel chair and unhandcuffed her hands, leaving her free for a second before re-chaining them to the desk. And then he shoved her further down into her seat, just for good measure.

And suddenly she'd much rather kill him than hire him as a dirty cop.

" _Ya could chain him up 'n cut him deep, then hang him up from a li'l hook in the ceiling. That'd be fun. Hurt like a bitch though – trust me, I know. But it'd be fun. Come on Becs – for old times' sake? Pretty please?"_

The officer then walked over to the far corner of the room, his hand resting on his belt – suspiciously close to his gun - and kept his face carefully blank. By now though, Beca had begun to see the cracks in his tough guy image.

Like this tiny, almost unnoticeable patch of light stubble on his chin, as if he had rushed shaving that morning, and the slightly crooked left thumb, probably permanently twisted after a bad break, and the healed scars on his ears that were undoubtedly from heavy earrings. Yup, this guy definitely had an emo phase at one point.

What a weird image.

He had most likely stayed to play guard-dog, and she could not see this guy doing any kind of interrogation, so he was probably around to do the tough work and leave the brains to someone else.

That someone being the remarkably hot redheaded detective who had just walked into the room, holding her head as if she owned the place, but with enough cheer in her oceanic blue eyes to come across as a naturally compassionate woman. Who was even worse than 'steely-brooding-I have a gun-guy' in the corner at pretending to look mean. She was pretty much gorgeous. And she seemed super nice. And chill. And _really_ hot.

" _Y'always had a thing for 'em redheads didn't ya? But remember, don't you be getting' no crushes on no cops, we talked 'bout this Kiddo. Uniform equals bad, slutty bikinis equals good. Simple."_

She probably looked good in a bikini though.

" _Not the point. Seriously Kiddo, no cops."_

Ugh. Sometimes she hated the fact that some delusion had more common sense than she did.

But seriously… wow. Time to charm up a storm Mitchell, you got this shit.

And so, as the beautiful woman took her seat – and was shortly followed by a bitchy looking blonde, but who cares for her, right? – Beca plastered her laziest, and most attractive, smirk on her face, waiting for a reaction.

Which she got.

The redhead's eyes briefly glanced at her lips slightly too intently, and Beca mentally added a point to her ' _Beca vs. Hot Police Lady'_ chart. The blonde however… eech. She'd never seen someone so… stern.

John would so like her.

" _I take it back. You have the redhead if I get the blonde. I got dibs."_

Beca tried to arrange herself into a comfortable position, but it was kinda hard when both her hands were pinned down to the table. Sure, she's gotten out of cuffs like these before, but it was painful as all Hell. Seriously, there was a reason all of her fingers were crazy bent.

The blonde seemed to have practiced, as she recited as if by memory a few basic terms that Beca kinda zoned out during. Like, are people born that boring? Or do they have to practice in front of the mirror on a daily basis?

"Mitchell." A sudden snapping of fingers grabbed her attention.

"Yes…?" Good job at trying to look like you were paying attention. Pat on the back. Not obvious at all.

"Pay attention."

"I was. Just not very well." Saved. Very suave. Smooth. I'm such a good liar.

Blondey sighed, as if she had to deal with assholes like Beca on a daily basis. "Just… get better at it, okay? We need to make a proposition."

Um. That was new.

"What? I thought this was an interrogation, you know? Where you, like, grill me on my crimes and question my motives 'n shit, not make a deal with me like we're high schoolers selling weed." Pause. "Also, if that were the case, I'd 100% be the dealer, not gonna lie."

Then the redhead angel spoke, and Beca was pretty sure it was the closest to Heaven she was ever going to get. Or the furthest away from Hell. Anyways – semantics – long story short, she actually gets hotter by the second, not just the minute. "We would like to offer you a compromise, since we are aware of the fact that you will face decades in prison. And we are also aware that Barden's crime rates are exceedingly high, and you are probably the biggest and most knowledgeable lead we have right now."

Okay. Cool. Still don't get it.

"Um… so I get the whole knowledge thing, and while I might disagree with me being the biggest, I definitely grew at some point over the last decade – maybe a while ago though – but… the whole lead bit, yeah… what, exactly, makes you think I'm gonna tell you shit?"

Blondey sighed for like, the tenth time in the last ten minutes, and Beca was beginning to take it personally. "We're offering to drastically decrease your punishments at the cost of you assisting us throughout the remainder of this current investigation."

That was so not what Beca expected, and the cop really seemed to hate having to say it.

"So… I guess the obvious answer is yes then, right?" Confirmation is always important.

"Obviously." Redhead speaks again. Wow. Still kinda in awe, but I'll get over it. "There would be restrictions, as I'm sure you've already guessed, such as constant supervision, limited contact with the outside world and regular searches, but I'm sure you'll adapt. Oh, and for now you'll be sleeping in one of the cells on the lower floor, where at least one guard will be on regular patrol, so no funny business or we'll send you packing of to prison. Is that clear?"

She was sexy when she was bossy. Beca liked that. "Yeah, I can deal with that. So, what case are we talking about again? Cause you, like, never really specified."

" _Hopefully it's a goodun, imagine if you were stuck dealin' with a buncha' petty thieves. That'd be dull as all Hell, wouldn't it Kiddo?"_

"You'll be assisting us in our search for the leader of the notorious Silver Bullets gang, Bumper Allen, whose whereabouts are currently unknown. Normally we wouldn't be surprised, but murder rates have been severely increasing for a while now, and we believe he plays a major role in a group of criminals who are, for some reason, orchestrating these killings. You are our best – and only – lead."

" _I take it back. Thieves would be better any day of the week. Seriously. Don't accept. You know he hates ya, heck, the man'll have killed ya by the time you give these coppers a shred of information."_

"I accept."

" _Kiddo, you really scare me sometimes. You can't get personal 'n you know it, so jus' walk away Becs, spend ya life in prison but keep the fuck away from that sicko, 'kay?"_

Shut the fuck up John.

"Yeah, I accept."

Redhead seemed pleased, which was nice, but Blondey did _not_. Which was kinda confusing. Aren't they supposed to want me on their side? Cops are just too emotional these days, I mean, seriously woman, make up your mind.

"Okay, so just one quick question before we take you to your cell, do you know any of these men?"

As Red said this, ol' blonde bitch-face had spread out some pictures.

Bumper, Reggie and… aw, shit.

They both looked at Beca, well, one glared and one waited expectantly. So, she spoke.

"Yeah, well… the one on the left is Bumper, Captain douche-bag himself, the next is some guy who got jumped a couple weeks ago. Stabbed in some alleyway, I think. Anyway, he owed Bumper some serious money, and wasn't making any profits with the cheap weed he was selling so… the Silver Bullets got him." Pause for breath. And sanity reasons. "The last guy… his name was Jonathon Thorn. No one really knows who killed him," lies, "but he'd been selling Quick Skull secrets to the highest bidder and I guess someone got him. He was found on the Silver Bullet's front doorstep; clearly having been severely tortured then killed by hanging. Messy business. About two years ago." Try not to let your unending turmoil show in your eyes Mitchell, come on.

" _Messy business? It sure was, weren't it, kiddo. Heck, ya still ain't gotten rid of the stains, have ya?"_

Blonde and Red both nodded confirmatively, and Beca continued to relax in her stiff chair, keeping her arms stretched in front of her to stop the chains from becoming taut. The two cops seemed pleased, which was good… -ish.

"Okay, good start, and thank you for confirming that. Um… Tom will take you to your cell now, and just be ready by morning." Redhead then proceeded to walk out with Blonde, who shot Beca one last dirty look before she left. Red just strolled out, not even realizing that Beca was able to get a good behind view, and one that she was definitely taking advantage of.

But then Tom – typical tough guy name – corrected her handcuffs until she could stand and led her down a flight of stairs until she saw cell. All the while keeping up the painful grip on her arms. Like, ow.

The cells definitely weren't the worst things she had ever seen, and she didn't really mind sleeping in an iron framed bed, and so Beca figured that she was fine.

Not that she ever slept anyway.

Well, not without at least two bottles of whisky, a pack of cigarettes, and a simple thought train – _without_ any interruptions from some asshole who had chosen to die and come back as an annoying hallucination inside her head.

" _Jus' ya friendly neighborhood Spiderman, who robbed ya of a few million bucks, ya sanity and ya favorite coffee mug. Still not sorry by the way."_

Ok. She would definitely _not_ be sleeping that night. Welcome to being an insomniac 101 with your proud teacher, Professor Mitchell. Nice to meet you too. Take a seat. Try not to get too jittery, but I won't judge. We've all had at least six cups of coffee since we woke up, and it's okay if you added a few drops of liqueur. I do too most days.

God, I'd be such a bad therapist.

Like Beca predicted, she didn't sleep, which sucked. Of course, she tried, she lay down and closed her eyes and shut her brain down and breathed deeply like everyone else does when they sleep, and for a few minutes she did sleep. Not well, but a bit.

And then she woke up a half hour later covered in sweat, barely able to breath, tensed for a fight and her hand hastily searching her back for any new scars. Yeah. Sleeping was definitely not her thing.

Liqueur was. 100%.

" _I know Kiddo, I know. C'mon, let's go do some press-ups or exercise stuff like that. Now use wallowin' in the past."_

And so, like she did every night, she followed John's advice and did some 'exercise stuff.'

No amount of push-ups could let her forget the soulful brown eyes that seemed permanently imprinted in her brain though.

Or the noises he made when the rope choked him to death.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chloe's PoV**

BZZZZZ BZZZZZ BZZZZZ

Ugh… what?

BZZZZZ BZZZZZ BZZZZZ

Jesus, I'm awake, okay?

BZZZZZ BZZZZZ BZZ-

The high-pitched ringing stopped abruptly – second time lucky – as Chloe Beale slammed her hand down hard and half rolled – half collapsed of the bed and onto the carpeted floor. Mornings ultimately sucked. And therefore, Chloe saw it as her duty to learn to love them.

She had been failing every single day of the week for the last 23 years, but, as a naturally loving person, she could learn to… not fail? It was hard, but she was determined.

But until she learned to appreciate her cruel alarm, mornings would continue to suck.

"Chloe Beale! Get yourself out of bed now! We have work!"

Okay, Chloe could probably find a little space in her heart for her alarm's horrific ringtone after comparing it to Aubrey Posen in the morning.

You know how you're supposed to wake up gradually as the day progresses? Yeah, well Aubrey woke up at around five am with the energy levels of a seven-year-old who'd just downed 10 cups of coffee and stayed that way.

 _All day._

And Chloe loved her best friend, really, but that was an impossible standard that she was expected to follow, since Aubrey couldn't seem to register that some people slept because they _liked_ it, not just so their body could restore all of its energy.

"CHLOE!"

"Gimme' a second!" then quietly, under her breath, "yeesh mom."

She showed, cursed when one of the light bulbs burst, changed into her uniform and climbed down the stairs, preparing herself for another day at work. And a new addition to the team: Beca Mitchell.

"You take so long in the mornings, seriously. Toast's on the counter, come on, let's go." Aubrey said from the door, obviously ready to continue working on the case that, until now, hadn't presented itself with any new leads or insights for weeks. And, whilst spending time at the station wasn't too bad – _especially_ with Amy there to crack stupid jokes about how she'd tamed wild dingoes with fishing rods and Taco Bell wrappers – Chloe could see why Aubrey was so eager to at last continue the investigation.

So, Chloe just playfully rolled her eyes and followed Aubrey out to the blue and white painted car that sat outside of their cozy apartment building, pretending not to be as excited as the blonde, but, in all honesty, by now she was feeling hopeful that maybe this would be the day they would _finally_ make some progress.

While working alongside a villainous – and surprisingly _hot_ – criminal.

Beca Mitchell.

She wasn't your usual felon, no. She had a reputation of a harsh businesswoman, the disturbing stories of her twisted crimes always partnered with a brief description of her cool attitude and relaxed persona that erupted into sudden outbursts of unforeseeable violence, and there were countless numbers of brutal slaughters to use as proof of her rumored lack of sanity. Some called her their idol, the Quick Skull gang's isolated savior, whilst others whispered of her inhuman gaze and lack of emotion fearfully; but it didn't matter. In truth, no one Chloe had ever questioned in the interview rooms had ever seemed to have properly interacted with her – no surprise, considering she had a habit of murdering most of her partners.

And now they had her in custody, sleeping in a cell, probably entertaining the thought of killing them all.

And that was what bothered Chloe. That, no matter her record, she had seemed almost normal yesterday in the interview, what with her torn skinny jeans, dusty leather jacket and tight shirt. Her pale skin and deep, azure eyes providing a canvas for the dark make-up to add depth to, and her silky hair that had perfectly cascaded down her back, one side pulled into a braided formation, framing an ear covered in studs, and the other half left to travel her defined jaw.

Some things had been slightly off, but they took a detective's skill and careful patience to discover. Like the way – underneath all the make-up – her eyes seemed hollow and glazed. And how those same eyes twitched frequently, examining the interrogation room repeatedly and carefully analyzing the officers in front of her, all whilst sitting though the conversation with slightly shaking hands that – after realizing the woman would be better trained than that and wouldn't allow her body to express her nervousness so blatantly – Chloe then chalked down to some type of damage done to the already mangled hands, probably something to do with the nerves.

She had appeared cocky and self-sure to start with, throwing Chloe a flirtatious smirk and obviously checking her out a few times, but her light mood had turned somber quickly when Bumper Allen was mentioned. The long-term rivals were all anyone talked about these days, both on the street and in prison cells, and apparently their blood fueled feud was an ongoing source of sick entertainment for lawbreakers alike.

And when John Thorn had been the topic of conversation, her eyes had become blurred with… sadness? Fear? Pain? A lot of things, it seemed, but then the subject was dropped and her face lifted into the usual amused features, her eyes losing that lonely haze and returning back to their attentive blue.

It was only hours later, pondering over the meeting that night, when Chloe had realized that the insufferable grin, bemused smirk and eyebrow lifts had most likely just been a front. And for some reason, Mitchell had let her guard down briefly when Thorn's name was spoken.

"Chloe!" Tom called from the entrance to the staircase, signaling for her to come down.

Unknowingly, Chloe had walked right through the front doors of the station without even realizing it, too preoccupied with her thoughts.

Tom was nice, and she would consider him a friend, if it wasn't for the fact that he was so bad at hiding his obvious crush on her that sometimes she wanted to cry _for_ him, since he was, frankly, too stupid to understand what the friendzone is.

"Hey Tom, how is she?"

Please don't have escaped please don't please –

"she woke up about three hours ago, talking in her sleep, actually, was what one of the watchers said, and since then she's been doing this whole fitness routine thing, I checked it out myself and, honestly, have no idea how she hasn't taken a break yet. You might want to let her shower or something before taking her into the office."

Cool. Not as bad as it could have been, and now she just needed an escort to the showers.

Chloe nodded her thanks to Tom, and then walked past him and down the staircase he was standing by, preparing herself for the encounter to come. The only noise coming from the lower floor was a repetitive rhythm of harsh breaths, the inhales echoing through the empty cells and the exhales leaving in gusts of wind that bounced of each wall. Kind of creepy, but by now Chloe was used to it.

She found Mitchell lying in a plank position in the middle of her given space, dressed in only her jeans and tank top – they were yet to give her any new clothes – dropping almost to the floor and forcefully pushing herself back up in an obsessively aggressive mantra of push-ups. The thing that shocked Chloe was that, thanks to her low-cut shirt, a large section of her upper back was displayed, revealing not only crude scars – whip lashes?! – but also the full expanse of a dark tattoo that grew from in-between her shoulder blades and stretched until it reached about a third of the way up the back of her neck before stopping at a curve. A gravestone. It was impossible to read the inscriptions fr0m this far away, but the glimpse left Chloe curious and she quickly took in what tattoos she could see.

A gang tattoo on her right bicep, as to be expected, and the skull that stared at her through hollow eyes with knifes for teeth was chilling, but also marked her as a permanent member of the Quick Skull gang.

The same limb had a decorative bug – a cricket – dancing along the inside of her forearm, while the opposing arm sported a pair of headphones on the inside wrist… unexpected hobby for a murderer.

The most obscure and yet most obvious ink stain in her body however, was a trail of scripted text that scrawled up her left side from her collarbone to the soft skin below her ear, yet the writing was obscenely small, and it proved impossible for Chloe to read such words.

And in the short time Chloe had to examine the girl, she really tried to.

"Um… are you done staring?"

Every fantasy had to end.

Wait… _fantasy_?!

Nuhuh. Not happening. Kind of hot, but _definitely_ not relationship material. Keep it professional.

"Only if you want me to be." Real professional. "And you need to shower." Good save. Yup. Perfect.

"Uh… okay. Wait, how's that gonna work? Cause, in case you haven't noticed, I'm pretty sure I can't go anywhere alone."

Just get Tom to wait outside or something.

"I'll wait outside." And listen to her shower? Beale, you are so creepy sometimes.

"Okay."

A moment of silence ensued, In which Beca looked at her expectantly. Why?

"Are you gonna open the door or…?"

Oh.

 _Oh._ Okay. "Sorry, I'm not too good in the mornings, I've no idea how your functioning properly right now."

"Nah, I'm probably about as bad when I wake up, just ask the patrol dude that had to watch me sleep last night. Poor guy."

Chloe chuckled and unlocked the thick door of the cage-like structure, "Why'd you get up so early them?" Small talk. Smooth.

"I'd rather spend my life living on caffeine than sleep a full night."

Huh?

Chloe's confusion must have shown on her face, as Beca added, "I'm kind of an insomniac."

"Is that the reason for the five O'clock wake up and three-hour work-out session?"

"Yep." She stepped out of the cell, dutifully following Chloe towards the downstairs bathrooms. "Wait, it's eight already?" She looked surprised.

"Yeah…"

"Wow, I probably haven't gotten this far into the morning without a drink for years."

Um… that's not really good. But keep it positive Chloe.

"What's it like to finally be sober?"

"Unsatisfying."

They had finally gotten to the showers, and as Chloe waited outside, casually pretending to not be listening to every move made in the stall, she came to the conclusion that this was, frankly, too awkward. And so, she tried to lighten the mood.

"Do you sing?" From the hesitant silence escaping from behind the curtain, the question obviously took the brunette by surprise.

"Um… no, I don't? Why?"

Chloe sighed, "because I was thinking that this entire situation got super awkward and wanted to fix it."

Beca huffed with amusement, "don't let my lack of talent stop you."

Well, she had to sing now, didn't she?

"I'm bulletproof, nothing to lose,

Fire away, fire away,

Ricochet, you take your aim,

Fire away, fire away."

Suddenly Beca's voice joined, and as Chloe's melodic tune harmonized with the criminal's coarse tone, she began to grin. Since when was this woman an estranged lawbreaker?

"You shoot me down but I won't fall,

I am titanium,

You shoot me down but I won't fall,

I am titanium

I am titanium, I am titanium."

Chloe got her breath back as the shower curtain opened and a towel-clad Beca walked out, hand reaching for her clothes.

"You _can_ sing! Why did you lie?!"

"I didn't, I said I _don't_ sing, not that I _can't_ sing. Also, I'm gonna need new clothes, because I am so not wearing a cop uniform or these ones."

"Yeah, Aubrey mentioned something about it being a disgrace for us to let you wear our outfits, and so she said she'd pick you something up. She'll be in her office by now, so I'll just go and grab them for you."

"God, what did she get me? Also, you never told me, what's your name? I didn't really pay much attention during the interview so…"

Beale, you are such an idiot. "Oh! I'm Detective Inspector Chloe Beale, and the blonde woman yesterday was my senior, Aubrey Posen."

"Cool, see you in a minute."

Chloe turned around to leave, but then-

"There's an officer outside in the hallway, you know, so don't try anything funny while I'm gone, okay?"

Beca rolled her eyes and sighed, "I won't Beale, I won't."

With that, Chloe speed-walked up the two flights of stairs to Aubrey's office, ducking inside, grabbing the full plastic bag, and leaving with a cooed, "Hey Aubrey! Bye Aubrey!" And trotting back down the stairs.

She found Beca in the same spot she last was, flexing her permanently trembling fingers with a contemplating frown on her face, but the look vanished almost instantly when Chloe returned.

"I have no idea what she got you, but she's pretty observant so she's probably got you all figured out by now. Just wear what you want, we're just following up on some leads this time. Nothing too serious."

 **Beca's PoV**

Beca nodded thankfully and took the bag, waiting for the redheaded cop to turn around before she unpacked it.

And, thanks to the lack of company, no-one was there to notice that the clothes were _very_ similar to her usual style.

And therefore no-one except for Beca noticed that, in the pocket of the old ripped jeans, a familiar switchblade rested, it's engraved hilt closed around the well-polished – but scratched from use – steel.

She grinned. Her own people called her mad, and the cops obviously thought so too.

And so, she let a little bit of the crazy flash in her eyes as she stroked the weapon once, twice, before slipping back into her façade of normalcy.

The cop remained a few meters in front of her, completely oblivious.

She had always preferred knives to guns anyway.

" _Dare ya' ta' kill the redhead."_


	3. Chapter 3

**Beca's PoV**

Beca sat in the desk scattered room, her handcuffed hands trembling - no suprise there - against her thighs, wondering how the Hell the cops managed to work in a place as messy as this - seriously.

There were binders, files and sheets of crisp paper stacked atop of desks, resting on shelves, and even lying on the floor. At least half of the dozen chairs in the room were unusable thanks to the abundance of paperwork taking up the seating space, and nearly all of the tabletops were inaccessible due to the extensive folders covering the wood, and Beca's hyperactive, extremely orderly and very OCD brain was actually having a meltdown.

How do they do it?

She could barely focus with another person in the room, but this was... ludicrous.

But then again, Beca had a pretty unique career, so maybe this is what everyone else liked to work in.

She highly doubted it was, but still.

Also, the blonde woman - she said to call her 'Fat Amy' - that called her girly was here, and the only reason she wasn't dead yet - handcuffs didn't affect her ability to kick someone's brains out of their skull - was because she was simply too absurd to die.

What did a dingo pup even look like? Or alligator kidneys? Why would those two things ever need to be put in the same sentence? Why would they ever need to be used in a sentence at all? Just... why?

Also, Posen - the bitchy blonde - was in the room, alongside a dark skinned woman in a lab coat who sported pretty cool red hair; an innocent brunette who looked no older than 17 and was grinning impishly - kinda adorable to be honest - but also seemed terrified of Beca; a well endowed, intelligent looking lady- she looked more proffessional than most of the other officers - who was sporting a very seductive smile; and Chloe, who was currently bickering with Fat Amy about something police related that Beca really couldn't give two shits about in the corner.

"Chloe! Amy! Get over here!" Huh. Blonde was the boss then. Wow, she actually felt bad for the other officers.

"This is Beca Mitchell, who you've all heard plenty about, and who will be assisting us with this investigation." She was so patronizing. "Mitchell, the smart one's Stacie, she's our Forensic pathologist so she examines all of the bodies, the one with the hair is Cynthia-Rose and she, like Chloe, is one of our leading Detectives. The sweet looking girl is Emily, and she sorts out all of the tech stuff, and Amy's the receptionist. You are under strict surveillance, and any resistance to your orders could result in this deal being terminated."

Everyone nodded, some eagerly, like Stacie, others more warily, like Emily, but they seemed cool, so it was fine.

Beca just dipped her chin slightly in affirmation, and lounged back in her chair, feeling the hidden knife she had secured on the inside of her sleeve shift slightly as she re-adjusted her handcuffs.

Aubrey took this as an invitation to continue, "As we all know, we are investigating the murders of a number of people, all of whom appeared to owe Bumper Allen - our lead suspect - money. The earliest record we have was from August 24th 2016, the day that John Thorn's body was found, and our most recent was from fifteen days ago, when an unidentified man was killed in an alley. His prints nor medical information could be found on the server, so until we have a name we can't uncover many details about him or his associates." She paused for breath before continuing.

"Usually the cause of death has been either direct stab wounds to the heart, bullet wounds to major organs, and in other cases bleeding out due to similar injuries. There have been exceptions to the rule, such as the first victim - Thorn - who had obviously undergone severe torture for a sustained period if time before being hung, and a few other victims had died in less orthodox fashions that include drowning, suffocation, poisoning and strangulation. One was even beaten to death by the culprit with their bare hands. Most of the murders have never been confessed to, and for many we only have potential leads, rumours and unreliable witness statements."

"So... question; were any of the victims - aside from John - confirmed to have personal relationships with Bumper Allen?" Beca asked, intrigued despite her reluctance to assist the police of all people.

 _"Ya sunk lower than that before Becs 'n we both know it. Helpin' the cops step up ain't too bad, I mean, c'mon, that's no where near what you did for Reggie that one time when ya were 17."_

Ugh. She still had flashbacks from that night when she was insanely drunk sometimes, and they were just disgusting.

It was Chloe's turn to talk, "not really, although the nature of Thorn and Allen's relationship is something we have never been able to confirm. Any insights you could give us?"

 _"Hmm... tell 'em ya killed me! Please, please please please?"_

"Thorn owed Allen a lot of money; its how he convinced John to rat us out in the first place." None of the others seemed suprised, and it was probably close to what they had assumed happened anyway. "Drug money." Hopefully no-one noticed that she still resented the substances after picking up on her slight hesitation before evaluating on her previous statements. A rare joint was okay, and Beca definitely couldn't critisize, but there was a difference between whiskey and some of the hard-core drugs John had stashed. Especially after her mother.

 _"Your mother was a blessin', weren't she? God, I luved that woman, jus' a shame she went out like that. She definitely wore the noose better than me."_

Fuck off John.

Chloe continued. "Were you two close?"

Truth or lie...

"As close as people in our business can, I guess. We were colleagues for a long time, 'n' so we'd been on a couple jobs together but that was it."

Mixture of both, then. Impressive.

"And you never thought to get him help? Shouldn't he have seen someone about it?" Emily piped up, suprisingly defensive, and Chloe shot her a simpythizing glance.

And, equally suprising, Beca responded honestly. "I tried. Multiple times, but... we both had issues at the time and... I tried. Neither of us was in a good place and... it would seem weak to the others."

"Is that your excuse? The money was too important? The job came first?" Emily was yelling by the end, a familiar pain in her eyes. Beca had seen that look in the mirror too many times.

"Yes." A quiet, calm answer; supposedly true, simple and convincing. The grief was still there though, elegantly hidden underneath layers of blank expressions, empty words and dancing scars that waltzed across her back.

But a liar has a knack for catching other liars, and Emily's face swapped its cruel glare for a pitying kind of smile, small and relatable.

Emily is the current favourite cop.

After Beale, of course.

The other officers continued the disscusion, no longer interested in a victims drug problems, but Emily motioned her head towards the door; the bathrooms.

And so, Beca dutifully followed the girl into a white-washed room, marking the empty stalls and stained mirror out of habit, and leant against the wall next to Emily.

"My sister's a heroin addict. I had to lock her up a couple months ago." Emily said, a solemn look on her face, "My mother still can't talk to me and my sister cracked the glass trying to kill me when I visited her three weeks ago. Being a cop suddenly isn't what I want anymore."

They remained in silence for a while, the dripping of one of the rusted taps the only sound.

Beca considered lying but... no masks. "It's better that she's locked up. Leave them too long without help and... they don't always make it." Emilys face was sorrowfull, akin to Beca's dead expression, "after my father left, my mother turned to drugs. She married some asshole - a dealer - and dosed daily. Tuesday afternoon, I get back from school, open the door, and... there she is, hanging from a rope in the middle of the living room, surrounded by bloody needles and empty bottles and cigerette butts. I was 14."

Emily had a tear running down her cheeks, her lips wobbling slightly. "So you couldn't help John because... you couldn't help your mother?" She was hesitant, questioning but knowing that somewhere there was a line that would eventually be drawn to stop the curiousity.

"No. Close though. If it was gambling, or alcohol or... heck, if it was some sick addiction to murder I... still would have saved him. I would have... stopped him. Or helped him or... whatever was necessary to fix him. But... when I first saw the needle and his stoned, lost face, I realised... I hated him. I like to think it was because he tried to keep it from me, or because he worked with Bumper but... it was because he chose the drugs. Knowing everything they had done to my mother, knowing what they had done to me..." Beca trailed of, choking slightly. "He chose the crack over his life. And I hate him for that. And I still do." Emily was nodding slowly, an understanding light shining in her eyes.

For yet another few minutes the silence continued, and Beca relaxed, as close to content as she got these days, only coming back to reality when Emily chuckled.

"I used to want to write music, you know? I took singing lessons and everything. I mean... I stopped when I became an officer, but... I might be considering giving it another go."

Beca smiled at that, reliving memories. "John tought me how to play guitar when we were young, and i hated that he was better than me so much that i practised for hours a day, for years. God, he thought it was fucking hilarious for some reason, and every time he had too much to drink he'd announce my 13 year old self's music obsession, topped with air guitaring really shittily whilst explaining how - as my teacher - he saw all of the mistakes i made, and would continue to mimic me for the rest of the night." Both women were grinning now.

 _"You were absolutely fuckin' terrible, God. I still remember ya strummin' that oversized thing, thinkin' ya would never be able to lift it, let alone play it."_

"I tried to play but my fingers just couldn't move fast enough, and not being able to play the chords made it difficult, to say the least." Emily said it heartily, but annoyance was now there, as if, for years, she had been failing to conquer her strung opponent and was still frustrated with herself.

"Well, we're in the same boat then, I mean, have you seen my fingers?" Beca gestured down to her rigid, trembling fingers with a slight grimace, "I only play it when im so tired - or drunk - that my body hasn't physically got the energy to keep my fingers shaking. I guess drunk guitar playing at 3 am has become somewhat of a tradition for me."

 _"We used ta' drive for hours in my ol' truck with only a coupla' cigerette packets 'n some cheap whiskey for company most afternoons. How 'bout that for tradition, hey? Heya Becs?"_

"You drink alot then?"

Beca snorted. Understatement of the century. "You could say that. I don't do it to... forget though, like most people do. I don't want to forget, and that's why I drink, because... I've already forgotten, and I learnt pretty early on that alcohol doesn't wipe away the pain, it just... helps me remember why I'm in pain."

Emily was facing Beca directly now, a kind, inquiring glean to her gaze, and she said, "What do you remember?"

The pause grew pregnant with curiousity, and the criminals face harshened with... acceptance? Yeah, acceptance. "I forget the exact colour of his hair. John's, I mean. Like, whether it was a golden blonde, or slightly dirtier, or if it was soft or smooth or delicate. And the way my mother smiled before, when she wasn't so high that she'd forget my name. I forget... everything. And just talking about it makes it feel further away, like my life's been split into a before and an after, and I'm trapped on one side getting a glimpse of the past when I'm lucky, a brick wall when I'm not. I feel trapped in a place without any restraints, and maybe... maybe that's why I can't ever feel free. In my own twisted way... I like the agony that comes with remembering because... it's better than feeling nothing at all, you know?" Beca chuckled without amusement. "God, life is so fucked up."

"Amen to that." Said Emily, who had a sad - if not understanding - expression displayed on her innocent features, chorusing the rawness that Beca could only assume often played with her own face.

 _"A-fuckin'-men sister, Amen."_ Beca internally congratulated John for not having anything interesting to say, as usual.

Man, where the hell were the cigarettes when you needed one.

"You got a smoke?"

Emily gasped. "No, of course not! I'm on duty, you arent allowed one and they slowly kill you! Are you insane?!"

Um... whoops.

Apparently cops hated smokers. And sneaking in cigarettes. And relaxing in general.

 _"Aw man, I'd jus' started ta like the gurl. Maybe redhead has some. Or the stupid security guy."_

"I don't expect to live long enough to see the effects."

Emily just gave her a stern, slightly patrinizing look, and suddenly Beca realised why Aubrey liked her. It was kind of scary.

"You are going to live to the age of a hundred and you're never going to smoke again."

 _"Ha. She's almost as delusional as us."_

For once, Beca agreed with him.

"Don't kid yourself, li'l miss 'respectable cop', lets be real. I'm either gonna die working on this case, have my body dumped in a river out in the middle of no-where if i escape, or probably kill myself after a couple decades behind bars. There isn't another option. Therefore smoking three packs a day is socially acceptable."

Emily just sighed, clearly defeated, and Beca had to reign in her smug smile. "You know, for a second there, I forgot you robbed and killed people for a living. And remembering totally sucks."

The smug smile on Beca's face became older, the sentimental tilt to the lips that replaced it seeming so out of place on such a weathered face. The nostalgic, slightly wistful glaze to her eyes mirroring that of an old crone, serving as yet another reminder if the things she had seen, done and been the victim of.

The scars felt all too raw as they shifted against the cotton of her shirt.

"And yet here we are, having a regular old heart-to-heart." She huffed, "ever need guitar lessons or tips on how to kill you ex in the most painful way possible, I'll be in my cell."

She left the bathroom, pleased that she had comitted herself to an almost normal conversation with an almost normal person for more than a few minutes.

And yes, that counted as an acheivement for crazies like Beca.

"Mitchell! Get over here!" Ugh... the dictator.

"Yes?" She manouvered across the still dangerously messy room, carefull as to what - or who - she trod on, preparing herself for whatever lecture was coming next.

"In the future, you will never leave my sight again, is that clear?"

Um... yes? She still don't give two shits?

"Yes, loud and clear sir." She gave a mock salute and sleazy grin to emphasize the stupified 'sir'.

"Well then, cut the crap, because we've got somewhere to be. Pull yourself together, and lets go."

"Where are we going again?" Maybe tell me next time? Asshole.

"To check out a body." Beca was still not registering whatever the blonde was trying to say.

Redhead thankfully said it clearer:

"There's been another murder."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chloe's PoV**

Her phone rang for the fourth time that hour as Aubrey drove towards the scene of the crime, it's obnoxious tone startling the silence of the car and trembling in her uniform's pocket. Aubrey failed to take her eyes of the road, following police procedure habitually and not even glancing at Chloe, who carefully un-pocketed her phone and hesitantly rejected it. If she didn't look at the caller ID she could still pretend it was by accident, right?

"Who's Chicago?" Beca questioned from the back of the old vehicle. How did she even see the name from back there?

"No-one." Chloe did _not_ want to talk about this now.

"It's rude to ignore people. Especially four times in a row, a technique that you will find is possibly the worst method of getting someone to leave you alone." She sounded contemplative, boredly considering the other options that she had most likely practised frequently over the course of years.

"And what would you suggest?"

The criminal paused, seeming to methodically consider her answer, before replying, "If it's an ex, use a knife, if it's a stepfather use a gun, and if it's a friend then hook up with _their_ ex." She sat back, proud of herself.

Aubrey, however, snorted and said, "He deserves worse than all of those combined."

"Am I allowed to kill him then?"

Chloe would laugh, but after seeing the serious expression on the woman's face and dangerous cloud to her dark eyes, she frowned. "I really hope your joking. And no. No killing people."

She pretended not to notice the dissapointment on Beca's face and tried to ignore the pain she felt when Beca asked her next question.

"What did this Chicago do?"

Aubrey silently drove.

Chloe silently looked out of the window.

Beca just sighed. "Chicago Walp right?"

Chloe's eyes immediately shot to the rear-mirror, "How did you know?" Her voice sounded sharper than she had wanted it to. Strange.

"I know everyone. Well, all of their secrets, at least. Ol' Chicag' used to be at the end of a minor drug dealing chain that one of my guys set up a few years ago. Only ever sold shit weed and basic stuff to college kids, but it's still good to have dirt on him." She paused. "And the secret girlfriend who happened to be a cop was this dirt."

Aubrey's eyes still hadn't left the road, but they had widened to almost twice the size they were normally.

Chloe just gaped, stupified.

"So, tell me, how many times did he hit you before you decided to end it."

Chloe recovered her dropped jaw and frantically shook her head whilst saying, "It wasn't like that, he just... had too much to drink sometimes. And how did you know _that_?! You can't have just read it somewhere, so tell me!"

Beca shrugged, something far more morbid than death gracing her eyes. "After enough experience, you learn how to recognise the ones that enjoy spreading the blood of those they claim to love across the floor from the few that would rather pour out their own instead. It was easy to work out which side of the spectrum he stood on."

Aubrey finally looked away from the road for a split second to stare at Beca before moving her eyes back in front of her, asking hesitantly, "an ex?"

Beca's jaw had set, and even in the small, cracked mirror the tension that danced down her neck and harsh facial features was visible. "Step-father."

Conversation over then. The rest of the forty minute drive passed in silence, interrupted only by occassional updates passing through the radios secured to their waists.

When they found the police-taped off area, they parked on the corner and ducked beneath the tape, nodding briefly at the other officers who had clearly beaten them to it. Stacie stood by the body, wearing her usual forensic suit and sanitary gloves, analysing the corpse from around a meter away. Aubrey and Chloe walked over to her, and she turned away from the figure to talk to them.

"Stab wound that just missed the heart and a large bump on the head, so he was probably concussed or not fully conscious when he died. It'll take a few days for the prints to come back and - Hey!" She twisted away from them to yell at Beca.

Beca, who currently had her hand stuffed inside of his chest, blood welling out in bubbles as she sunk the entirety of her wrist and fingers inside of the open wound, not even flinching as dark gore splashed onto her clothes and face.

Um... what the _fuck_?

She proceeded to offer Stacie nothing more than a dismissive grunt, entirely focused on whatever the hell she was doing with her hand shoved inside the dead man's chest. Gross. And weird.

"What the hell are you doing?! Stop that!"

Beca did so, pulling out her blood-stained hand and carefully picking through the fluids with her other hand, clearly looknig for something. She spent a few more seconds like this, blatantly ignoring Stacie, until she seemed to find whatever she was looking for.

She withdrew her hand, studying it with a triumphant grin on her face as she promptly stood and strode towards the trio of detectives awaiting her discovery. She held her hand out infront of her - still trembling, as always - , showing her the thick coating of red blood to the group, and they each looked at her in confusion.

She rolled her eyes, exasperated. "There are specks of rust on the inside of the wound and the edges of the injury were slightly jagged." She motioned to small specks of flakey orange metal mixed in with the blood on her palm. "He was stabbed with an old, poorly kept blade - likely his own - that consisted of a wide diameter but short length when compared to more favourable combat knives. He was obviously inexperienced with conditioning and sharpening the weapon, however consitently carried it with him, since his belt was too loose to normally be empty and slightly worn down on the left side. He was expecting a fight, as we can tell from the position he landed in, but not for his own weapon to be used against him, since little blood is smeared on his own hands and he clearly never even thought to stop the bleeding." She frowned dissaprovingly, casting a pitying look at the body. "Who ever stabbed him was inexperienced too, though, as the blade missed the heart and they relied on him bleeding out instead of just slitting his throat. I'd say he lasted no more than five minutes and died in unimaginable pain, where he was too weak to even scream." She shook her head, "stupid fucker."

Chloe, Aubrey and Stacie all stared at her, wide eyed. She looked at them thoughtfully, obviously considering something, and opened her mouth to speak when a generic ringing abruptly sung from the body.

A phone. The _dead man's_ phone. In the front pocket of his cheap bomber jacket.

Stacie instantly turned towards the corpse with Aubrey, while Chloe practically sprung towards the dead man.

Beca beat her to it, and as she took in the caller ID, her face visibly dropped.

"What?" Chloe asked bluntly.

"I know this guy." Beca said, not looking up from the cracked screen. She stayed frozen for a moment, before jerkishly bringing the phone to her ear, clearly conflicted.

Beca spoke, the gaps inbetween her speech filled in by an unidentifyable voice on the other end, the qaulity too poor for Chloe to hear what he said exactly. "Hey Jesse... your guy's dead... no, a few hours ago... no Jesse, of course i didn't do it... seriously? You just said that? Trust me, this was an amatuer, I'd at least hit the heart, y'know?... yeah, you're gonna have to hide out somewhere for a while dude... no, the supplies are all out in the warehouse, and the flat's too close... no." Her face hardened now, her conversation with this mystery man - who knows how Beca knew him - clearly taking a darker turn.

The reciever seemed to get the message, as he continued to speak for a while, until Beca said, "You could come to the station... no, I can deal with that easily... trust me, he won't kill you in a cop's lair, he's nowhere near that good... just roll with it man... okay, meet by the bridge, yeah? And don't get caught." She paused, probably about to lower the phone, but then she suddenly asked, "How much do you owe... Holy fucking shit, seriously?! No way did you spend all that on a couple knives... I'm not stupid Jesse, tell me."

The man on the phone took a long time to answer, and the criminals face went from concerned to... furious? No... more like... betrayed? Yeah, she looked betrayed.

And her next words only confirmed it. "Fuck you, you peice of shit." But that wasn't all.

"I'm going to find you, and pay of your debt, and bribe the cops into letting you go, and I'm going to pay of your sisters medical bills and get someone to look after your dog, and I'm gonna spend thousands of dollars on you and then i'm going to beat you until you can't walk for weeks and break both of your arms and make you deaf in one ear, and then I'm going to go on with my fucking day and pretend you didn't spend over twenty fucking grand on getting stoned with the same asshole who I've sworn to kill one day. And you're going to let me, because if I don't then you'll be dead within the next few days, got it? Good." She started of speaking in a quiet tone, but by the end of her monologue she was a few soundwaves from shouting. She hung up.

Holy burning Hell.

Everyone just stood in the alleyway, eyeing the woman who had gone from civilised and intellectual to murderous and cruel and... _terrifying_ in a span of a minute, and who now just shrugged her jacket back in place and dropped the phone onto the slightly wet pavement without missing a beat, her enraged face clicking into a blank mask of boredom the second the phone hit the ground.

Yeah, Chloe could totally understand why she was labelled crazy by both the police and the overpopulated criminals of Barden County now. Aubrey and Stacie exchanged looks with her, shock expressed on both their faces. Silence reigned.

Beca spoke finally, "There's a bridge by the canal, we're going to meet a guy there and bring him into the station. He was working with this idiot," she gestured to the body, "and will be the next victim if we don't get him some protection. In return he'll offer us information and i'll take care of his debt. He's a colleague of mine; you can trust him."

And then she walked back to the cop car, climbed in the back and was obscured by the tinted windows. No-one moved for a minute, either too scared or confused to comment. Except for Stacie, that is. And she summed up everyone's thought proccess pretty smoothly.

"Well shit."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The car ride back was tense, following Beca's directions without question. The criminal in question was sitting in the back, handcuffs somehow discarded on the car floor and a scary glint to her eyes. Chloe's phone had stopped ringing by now.

Finally Aubrey pulled the vehicle to a stop, braking harshly, and said, "Should we all go, or just you?"

"I'll deal with him. He can't run from me and he knows it, despite being the moron he is."

Beca then smoothly walked out of the car, dragging the unlocked handcuffs with her in one hand, and made her way over to a shadowed alcove by the side of the unimpressive bridge. A hooded figure emerged from the darkness to greet her.

He, seemingly without question, just offered his hands out, which Beca cuffed with ease - despite her lock picking them earlier - and walked him to the car. She opened the rear-side door and shoved him in a little too roughly, before moving around to her own side. Chloe mimicked Aubrey in examining his face in the rear-view mirror when Beca yanked his hood down as an afterthought.

Light brown hair - no where near as dark as Beca's - and soft chocolate eyes pulled into an innocent, slightly scared expression, and a dark grey shirt could be seen poking up from the top of his hoodie. His fingers fidgeted consistently in the steely embrace of his handcuffs, and the second Beca sat down along from him he directed all attention to her still figure - unmoving if not for the trembling fingers resting on her lap. He kept opening and closing his mouth at her, as if he wanted to say something, but Beca never once looked from the black tinted windows, and so the rest of the journey was spent in slightly awkward silence.

Aubrey drove.

Beca glared at nothing.

The newcomer stared wistfully at the angry brunette.

Chicago didn't call again that day, probably already too caught up in another girl to dial his ex's number.

Chloe just made sure the two criminals in the back of her best-friend's car didn't kill each other.


	5. Chapter 5

**Beca's PoV**

Beca was mad. Beyond mad. So mad that she knew looking Jesse in the eye would result in her fingers around his throat and that little hidden knife up her sleeve dug deep into his chest.

Her fingers never shook when she strangled someone.

Or aimed a gun, or held a knife.

Funny.

And God, sitting here, with less than a metre between her and the fucker who just (figuratively) stabbed her in the back? Yeah, not helping. Really, she was counting down the seconds until she got to kill him.

He'd betrayed her. Both as a professional ally and a... _friend_? No, not a friend. Beca Mitchell doesn't have friends. None. Ever.

She was still allowed to be mad though.

Chloe - the angel - kept on trying to catch her eye in the rear-view mirror, but Beca refused to acknowledge her, partly because this was her attempt at pretending not to care about the beautiful redhead seated in the passenger seat, but also because a small part of her knew that at times like this her eyes were probably diluted with bloodlust, and the scary glint that would simmer in them was almost definitely not attractive, and would either disgust or scare the hell out of Chloe. Jesse was on the list of people to ignore too, but she could practically _feel_ him staring at the side of her head, waiting for her to look at him and trigger a stupidly apologetic string of word vomit, not unlike the past ones that the boy was almost famous for.

Posen was being ignored too, but that was more because Beca generally didn't like her, and would therefore never willingly exchange a polite conversation with her.

Unless it was about killing people, because Beca knew a _lot_ about that. Really, she _had_ to stop thinking about it.

Her fingers were twitching, not due to the horrific nerve damage previously inflicted on them for once - because her body literally ached from withstanding the urge to plunge her hidden knife into Jesse's face.

Over-reaction? Most likely. Justified? Hell yes.

He'd spent $15,000 of _stolen_ money on drugs over the past 6 months, part of a scheme him and the idiot in the alley had thought up, and now the Silver Bullets had realised and sent their topdogs - including Bumper fuckin' Allen - after the two for ripping them off. So now Beca would have to pay his debts off for him, beat the shit out of him for going behind her back for a little bit of extra cash with the bonus of a couple free scores, and write some stupid motivational speech about how - even though they just lost a member - the Quick Skulls would soon win this ridiculous 3 year-long-and-still-going turf war.

Usually Beca would leave it at that. In fact, most of the time she'd simply hand over which ever moron had lied to her right into the arms of the Silver Bullets, just to see if the fucker came out the other end in one piece, but Jesse gets special treatment because - despite being unable to do anything else right - he was possibly the best guy to have behind the scenes, clicking his way through a firewall and being the best all-round tech nut in Barden.

But because Jesse was insanely valuable, she had to protect him, no matter how stupid he could be. And so dumping him in the police station where she could keep an eye on him _and_ ensure he was safe? Perfect plan.

If it weren't for the fact that she was still daydreaming about slaughtering him for angering their biggest enemy whilst they were in the middle of a crazy gang war.

 _"Let's not be lyin' now Becs, we both kno' your only really mad 'cos he did drugs without tellin' ya."_

She internally sighed. Hi to you too John.

 _"Plus he knows 'bout ya' moth'r, which means he prob'ly kno's your gon' mess him up bad for pullin' the same crap I did."_

Well, cutting right to the chase then.

Jesse cleared his throat, snapping her out of her thoughts but not prompting her to face him. The window was _way_ more interesting and capable of mantaining an intelligent conversation.

But some people just can't take the hint.

"Becs... um, I'm sorry." He spoke timidly, fear all too present in his voice. Both Chloe and Posen visibly perked up in the front of the car.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths...

And maybe for once the universe decided to do the estranged criminal a favour, because right before Beca turned to shove his head out of the window - glass shards be damned - Posen pulled up into her reserved space outside the brick building and parked efficiently.

Beca instantly sprung out of her seat, slamming the car door a little too forcefully, and strode purposefully towards the main entrance of Barden's Police Station, completely ignoring the two cops that exited the vehicle seconds after she did and the criminal struggling to get out of the car with his handcuffs on behind her. Let him struggle. He deserved it.

 **XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

It was weird sitting in an interrogation room without handcuffs. Beca was so used to pairing small, poorly lit rooms and moronic, easily manipulated detectives with cold metal clamped around both wrists, sometimes digging deep enough to break skin and allow little pools of blood to stain the steel - and so sitting here, _alongside_ the cops? God, it was beyond strange.

Really, the lighting seemed different on this side and everything.

Jesse looked remarkably uncomfortable, to her amusement, and Beca was trying to hold back a smirk.

Smirks either meant two things when Beca made use of them: she was going to either fuck you or kill you.

The first option was disturbing. Imagine Jesse - _ew_.

The latter was a little too tempting.

 _"You've really gotta' stop tryna' kill ya' friends Becs, we talked about this before y'know."_

Chloe sat on her left, with Jesse seated across the desk visibly wincing at the cold metal chair he was forced to sit on and hesitantly making fleeting eye contact with them.

Coward.

Beca knew that Posen - who had given her a stern look as if to say _'don't you fucking dare kill him, or I'll bury you where no-one will ever find you'_ when they had briefly made eye contact in the corridor outside - was watching from the other side of the dark glass, no doubt with multiple armed officers accompanying her.

Beca scoffed slightly under her breath. They actually thought they could stop her if she tried to kill him? They hadn't even realised that the clothes she was wearing - and the knife tucked up her sleeve - were all courtesy of a hundred bucks in exchange for a quick bag swap. Or that she'd stolen a warden's key to her cell last night and could - at any time she wanted - leave. Or that she had the backstory of almost every cop on the team memorised incase blackmail became an option in the future.

Cops were the epitome of unobservant.

But, Bumper - unlike her - didn't have the guts to bring in the boys in blue, and so staking out in Barden Station? Beca was proud of herself for that one.

Jesse didn't look proud in the slightest; more like terrified.

Beca's resolve broke and she flashed him her _'I'm about to kill you'_ smirk, and he visibly trembled.

But maybe the beautiful cop sitting next to her picked up on her twisted intentions, and quickly interrupted the silence that had decended by briefly listing both his name and the date for the hidden recording device - where the Hell did they even put those things? - and then starting the interview as if the air wasn't tense with excessive urges to kill on Beca's part and pathetic needs to run on Jesse's.

"I'm Detective Chloe Beale, this is my temporary co-worker Beca Mitchell, and we need to ask you some questions concerning both the nature of you relationship with Bumper Allen and why he would target you." Jesse nodded affirmatively, attempting to relax but unable to in the crudely designed chair, "Firstly, it is common knowledge that you have worked with and alongside the Quick Skulls gang, can you detail what exactly you specialize in, if anything?"

 _"Really, what he 'specializes' in? Jus' knock him 'round the head a couple times, do 'im some good."_

The boy - he was actually the same age as Beca but she would never acknowledge it - glanced at Beca, momentarily disregarding his fear of being murdered by his boss and hesitating long enough for the eye contact to be percieved as a silent question: " _The truth?_ ".

Beca nodded, confident that him explaining his job and all it entails wouldn't be too big an issue.

He spoke briefly, carefully, as if ensuring nothing he said have away too much. "I deal with the computer stuff, y'know. All the logging and research. Becs tells me what to do, I do it - usually I have no clue what she'll use the info for, but the pay's good."

Beca saw Chloe nod out of the corner of her eye, but didn't let her death gaze wander from Jesse.

"And what was your relation to the latest victim? We have sources that claim you worked with him."

Correction - _a_ source of varying reliability.

Jesse wasn't watching Beca anymore, instead watching the table in front of him as if it held the keys to the universe, "I did, _once_ ," he rushed to emphasise the solidarity of his actions, "and it was a mistake."

Beca snorted, but her knee shortly recieved a nudge from the redhead's that hit just hard enough to be percieved as a warning. A silent 'shut the heck up'.

"Why did you do it then?" Chloe persisted.

"I needed the money. Our... _society_ , was in a bad place finance wise, and Fernand - the dead guy - offered me money and... drugs."

"How long were you using for?" Beca cut in, voice a steely contrast to the comforting nature of Chloe's - who turned to give her a sharp look but didn't interupt her.

Jesse gave her an apologetic look, and replied, "6 months? -Ish? It wasn't anything serious, just a ploy for some cash that came with excess material."

 _"Idiot. Fuckin' kill 'im already."_

"You know the rules, right?"

 _"Fuck yeah he does!"_

Chloe interrupted her border-line hardassment to say, "what my temporary colleague means is, were you aware that by doing so you were essentially aiding an enemy gang?"

Jesse hesitates. "No...?" He speaks unsurely, sinking slowly into his chair.

Beca laughs without a trickle of genuine amusement, because - seriously - this guy was so _full of shit_. "Stop lying through your fucking teeth; you just lost me a shit ton of money through selling fucking _Heroin_ behind my back, under _my_ fucking name and then proceeded to take most of it yourself!" She yelled, voice increasing in volume as she rose from her chair, the redhead next to her attempting to interrupt but being overwhelmed by Beca's anger.

Jesse too rose to his feet, suddenly losing his temper as well as his reluctance to speak out against her, "What - are you suddenly gonna' kill me 'cos _you_ were too caught up in your own grief to keep track of your damn records, eh? _You_ shut _us_ out in the middle of a fucking _war_ , what did you expect me to do!"

 _"Kill 'im."_

The door kicked open and Posen rushed in, followed by a familiar looking officer who instantly rushed for the argueing criminals. Beale was attempting to restrain Beca, who was struggling against her, arms reaching around her (remarkably fit) body to grasp Jesse's shirt over the table. His cuffed hands struggled fruitlessly against her as she tightened her grip as best as she could given the cops holding her back around his neck, and he frothed profanities at her.

Beca could hear Posen's piercing voice calling for the pair to stop, and Beale's hands had joined Jesse's in trying to pry away her fingers from the boys bruising neck. She was barely aware of the familiar looking uniformed man with earing scars - oh yeah, _Tom_ \- grabbing her waist, pulling her back and pinning to the wall behind her, parrallel to the tinted glass on her left. She lost her grip on the boy, and he staggered backwards, gasping.

Posen was suddenly there too, snapping a fresh pair of cuffs over her wrists as Tom held her arms still in front of her. She could see Jesse sitting back down calmly, or as calmly as he could after nearly being choked to death, and mentally cursed him for possessing the self-control that she clearly didn't, as she continued to fruitlessly fight, while cuffed, against the two officers holding her.

The last thing Beca saw before being shoved out of the room and rushed down the corridor was the redhead returning to her designated seat, ignoring the toppled one (when did that fall?) and watching Beca leave with a melancholic glint to her eyes.

For a second the degenerate criminal thought it could be sympathy, perhaps sadness, but, then again, who the Hell could give a shit about her?

A dead man's voice answered her inner thoughts, _"No-one."_


End file.
